I'm a Taurus. We tend to be rather set in our ways. Any variation from the norm can throw us off. This is not a good thing. We should be able to roll with whatever/whomever wants to roll with us. That would be more fun. The poem below contemplates this.
I don't improvise well.
I never throw the covers
off my skin in the late
morning unless my course
for the day has been
thoroughly plotted from
lunch to midnight snack.
I hold conversations with
friends, strangers, former
and future lovers in my
self long before words
ever bar my teeth apart.
Can't even take a shit
without planning it with
deep affection for weeks in
advance. But Bobbie Burns
was right of course about
the schemes of rodents and
their two-legged cousins.
Things happen: Detours,
rewrites, ad-libs, diarrhea
raining down on me until
I stoke the funeral pyre,
lay the blueprints upon
it and let the detailed
flames singe off any signs
of motive or direction
until everything flakes
away to reveal nothing
more or less than me.
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